Piano Concerto in A major
by Umberon44
Summary: Humans are only identifiable by their unique sound. But there is a war going on, and sometimes your song is not something you want to possess. -Original, not based in a fandom-
1. Piano Concerto in A major

Twelve years ago, things were different.

You wouldn't be judged, you wouldn't be bullied, or ostracized, for your harmony or your bassline.

It didn't matter if the snare was a little off.

The tics and out of time high hat notes and too sharp tuba _legatos_ were all just little things, experiences and battles that you'd survived, and they were good. You could go outside without the protesters fighting in the middle of the streets, screams and hatred filling the air, sounds gone sour. Music used to be all about being you, being who _you_ were, being proud.

Now, it had to be perfect.

A wrong note could get you thrown out of a restaurant, key too sharp or too flat meant maybe that day the food wouldn't arrive from the grocery delivery service. A change of timing could get you mugged; your unfinished solo only ending on a knife wound and large hospital bill. If your music didn't stay together, you were ostracised. Notes off the beat, tune sounded funny, exotic instruments, anything at all really, could have you beaten up and maybe even jailed. The state of society was beginning to get pretty desperate by the time I was born.

I grew up pretty normal. I had the regular amount of limbs and parents, did pretty well in school (although I wasn't a straight A student). Had a pretty average amount of friends, who were all the same as me in all the things that mattered. I was told my music was pretty average too, which I couldn't help but be a little disappointed about. Even with all the fuss about it as I grew up (John, if you can't get that oboe under control, I'm afraid this school can't take you), I still heard tales about reformed tuners that saved hundreds of trapped citizens in the war, or single-handedly beat down protests with inspiring and hopeful speeches. There was something dangerously appealing about those with offbeat music, and well… I was just average. Well, I thought to myself around age 12, here's to a life of dreary normality. I'll find a partner, maybe have kids, get a job that, while paying for the cost of living, will probably also be incredibly boring. Desk job probably, that's what most ¾'s get. But at least I was happy, or as happy as I could be, anyway.

I was about 18 when things began to get worse. The ongoing war between Mariachi and Blues was escalating with no sign of stopping. No one predicted that Mariachi would decide to bomb half of Blues almost to dust, or that Blues would respond with a discord raze. Chamber was building numerous ships and probably guns and Hardcore Rock was responding in kind. Whispers of bigger and better weapons snuck out of the two countries on a basically hourly basis. No one knew what was truth, and no one knew what was fiction. Rock denied that it had any involvement with Hardcore Rock's arms race and had apparently vanished off the face of the Earth. Punk was still struggling to scrape together two cents, as was pretty much usual. I, in the meantime, was trying to get my driver's license. And failing. Badly.

'You realise that was a red light.'

'Uh… yeah.'

Tires were squealing, I was going 70 and there were ten cars behind me honking as loud as they could. My assessor seemed to be a pretty friendly guy, musically, but driving through three consecutive red lights and missing the give way sign three k's back didn't seem to soften him towards me. I yanked the wheel left and pulled over into a parking space, nearly bumping a car and stopping only a couple centimetres away from the bumper of the car in front of me. The assessor took a deep breath and met my gaze, steeling his eyes as he looked at my awkwardly stressed face.

'Three red lights, a give way sign, two broken reflectors, a bent bumper, pulled over by the police… do you want me to continue?'

It definitely had not been my day.

Interestingly enough, that was the day that all hell broke loose up north. Mariachi had spontaneously invaded the top of Theme in order to sneak up on Blues' western border, without alerting Theme. Of course, it was pretty much just a huge dick move, designed to drag Theme into the war. It worked. The army was being mobilised as fast as humanly possible, citizens were being warned that there could be armed and dangerous Mariachi soldiers in the country, and that was that. Instant terror.

A year later I had a knock or three on my door. I had come down with the shittiest version of the 'flu imaginable a couple days back, but I answered anyway, with a dripping nose and screaming muscles. It was the army. Come to recruit. 'Your country needs _you_ ' and all that shit. But as much as I wanted to lie, they knew I was over 18. Can't beat your unmuteable music for telling basic information. I was told to get to the nearest military base for sign up and that was that. Government incentives be damned, I'd just been conscripted.

They wanted me in tanks. I refused. My driver's test had shown me enough. Tanks were backup, not friendly fire.

They only gave us two months of intensive training, and then we were shipped to the front lines. Only as a figure of speech, since there was shit all water in between the war and us. I had eventually been placed in Fifth Discord Battalion, which specialised in messing with the enemies' musical harmony in order to throw them off. They mostly used discord launchers, guns the size of a rifle but a bit more bulky, to launch the little spheres anywhere from 600-1000 metres away. The things sent a blast of sound five hundred metres around it. Hurt like a bitch when you got hit, and left tinnitus effects for hours. I always felt like an asshole, messing with others' music, even if they were the assholes that invaded us. They hadn't hurt me personally and they were all people too. But it was my job, the government and my commanding officers were watching, and shame on those who show cowardice. And yeah, I did my job for a couple years, until things just got even worse.

Our unit was captured. We had thrown some less effective hand grenades in a close range scuffle and one of them had hit us. We were down for the count and no way around it.

Put on trial for war crimes and inhumane treatment of human beings. In Mariachi of course. Those bastards were using discord too, so I didn't see what laws of theirs we were breaking, but the damn government didn't pull us out of there with a money prize or anything.

My unit was put to death. Those fucking assholes decided there was nothing for us but to kill us all, what with us unable to fight back anymore and posing as much threat as two fruits and five vegetables a day.

They let me go free, to spread the word of their choice. I was the only one left alive, and by the skin of my teeth at that.

Even then, it was kill or be killed. It's not like they'd supply me with a safe way home.


	2. Military March

_Some people are born with an anacrusis. They end with one less beat. A perfect circle, if you will._

 ** _F# G# F# G# F# G# F# G# F# G#_**

 _A melodic minor scale_

6/8 | 4/4 | 2/2 | 1/2 | 2/4

 _Six days ago,_ I had finally returned from the Mariachi jail complex that I had been trapped in for a year. The Mariachans were shrouded in secrecy for a reason, and that was because everything was only shared on a need to know basis. News of my unit's death travelled with me. I had had no idea of the state of Theme at the time of my return, and travelled nervously. At any time the various forms of transport I had been given could be attacked by either Mariachan or Thematic soldiers, and I had had more than enough of gunfire and blood. When I returned to the capital of Theme, Glissando, the government was waiting for me, with a distinct lack of welcome. I was bustled into an official car and taken off to the government bunkers straight away. When there, I was basically interrogated for information on the Mariachi command structure and war intentions, but I had nothing to tell them. I only really knew how to operate a Discord launcher and I could tell them the precise dimensions of my cell, but how was I to know what a Mariachan Seargent-General was meant to look like? The officials were disappointed, I was exhausted, and they relieved me of duty two days later. An honourable discharge, which apparently meant the nearest hotel, which was in Berceuse, 1400 k's from home.

 ** _F# G# F# G# F# G# F# G# F# G#_**

I picked up the lost sock from under the crappy hotel bed. That was all my stuff found; finally I could leave the hotel and head home. I dumped the sock in my suitcase and sat on the bed, which creaked in complaint. My old housemate Will was happy to let me come back for a while until I could get a job, and then we would sort things out from there. I wasn't sure how easy it would be to get used to being able to relax and get a normal job again, after all the things that had happened in the last two years. I supposed I would just have to see.

I checked my battered old watch for the time. It was 8:25, which left a nice amount of time for me to get to the train station for the 9am train. I hauled myself off the bed, picked up my suitcase and made my way down to reception. The grizzled old receptionist came into view as I approached.

'What can I get you?' he asked, voice muffled by the glass screen, and the fact he was looking at a crossword instead of me. I reached into my pocket for the room key and a few crumpled notes, which he took.

'It's impromptu,' I said, and he looked up in surprise before scribbling the word into its place in the crossword.

'I hope you enjoyed your stay,' he said, sounding fully aware of the state of the hotel as I walked onto the streets. The sound of people filled my ears once again, a strange mix of all the different people living in Berceuse. The electronic and occasionally orchestral mixes of the kids and adults moving through the city was incredible after gunfire and silence. I smiled. Thank god I was back.

 ** _F# G# F# G# F# G# F# G# F# G#_**

I had always wondered how the many different timings and pitches of individual music never clashed with society. If you walked through the street it would be an unreproducible harmony of incredible proportions. There was nothing like it. Perhaps it was the effect of society on children. You could hear a 6/8 and a 12/4 talking, but the duet never sounded grating. Perhaps your music subtly changed when you were around different people, or everyone was stuck in this rut where there wasn't any great musical difference anymore. You grew up trying to fit in, and perhaps your music reflected that. Being a 3/4 didn't make it too difficult for me to stay in time with others, but it must be difficult for people who were 10/2 or 12/6 to match themselves up, even subconsciously, as a child. Just a natural mystery, I suppose.

I arrived at the station ten minutes early for the train, so I bought my ticket and took a seat on one of the platform benches, suitcase neatly placed beneath. My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I picked it up. It was a text from Will.

 _ETA_ was all it said. I typed back _10pm_ and put my phone away again. I wasn't really one for essay texts. A distant whistle signalled the train's imminent arrival, so I stood, holding my bag on the edge of the platform. The crowd began to jostle as last minute passengers rushed onto the platform, before hurriedly boarding the train.

 ** _F# G# F# G# F# G# F# G# F# G#_**

The train arrived exactly on time, whistling steam from the wheels as we slowed to a halt at the platform. I dragged my bag off and began searching music for Will, until I heard a cry.

'Good to see you again,' Will greeted me with a grin, calloused hand extended. I completed the gesture, and walked beside him as we left the platform.

'We heard the news,' he said. 'Everyone was terrified that you were dead. The lack of information was the worst thing, I think.'

'I'll make sure they know to improve their personal correspondence in the next war,' I said drily. 'I don't think the government knew either. The Mariachans don't really let information out.'

I ended it on a final note. Will glanced at me.

'Sorry,' he said, leading me into the dimly lit car park. We searched for his ute for a bit, and when we finally found it I tied my suitcase into the tray.

'Jump in,' he invited, and I got into the passenger seat. It was dark, but the changes to the town were obvious. There were more trees, more lights, a radio tower and everything seemed more crowded. Tense. But it was mesmerising to see the fields again. Canola was growing well and the wheat definitely was booming. If the war came here, everyone would be okay for a while, at least.

'So, uh… when did you get back?' Will asked. His driving skills were at least twelve times better than mine. By which I mean he hadn't driven off the road yet.

'Tuesday, unless you mean when I was released into the public. That was about Friday.'

'Oh.'

I left the conversation before he could delve deeper, and went to sleep. I slept for the rest of the drive.

 ** _F# G# F# G# F# G# F# G# F# G#_**

I woke up suddenly, feeling like I'd just woken up from a nightmare. Which I probably had, but I couldn't remember anything. Looking around, which was difficult because my face was mushed into a solid surface, apparently I had slept on the floor. That explained the face thing. I could see my clothes scattered around, on the bed, hanging off the cupboard, thrown over the door… I was almost impressed, except I was too confused. What the hell had I been doing when I got here? I stood up and began gathering the clothes, putting them into an untidy pile in the corner. The room was pretty bare, just the bed, the cupboard and a little desk. It was my old room. I was at Will's. It was now that a splitting headache decided to make itself known. So. Order one, find Will and the Panadol. Order two, get some breakfast.

Will was waiting in the kitchen, eating his own breakfast of scrambled eggs and gin. I decided not to question his culinary choices at that time, and just ask for the location of the needed items. He vaguely gestured towards the various cupboards next to the sink, so that's where I went. Inside were some loaves of bread, spreads, snacks and thankfully, painkillers. I grabbed a random assortment of foods and a couple pills and began eating. Toast with cheese. Well done Will.

'I'm going out to get the vet. Some of the sheep are acting up,' Will said, taking a sip of juice. I nodded.

'I'll call if I need anything,' I said. Will grabbed his jacket from the hook next to the door and I heard the lock click behind him.

Suddenly there was a noticeable tremor in the ground, and my ears popped. Before everything went silent, I heard a scream from outside. I pushed my chair back and went to the window. No one was there, not that I could hear. Will's car was still there, rolling slightly down the slant of the driveway. Something smashed into my back- the kitchen bench met my stomach, and I fell to the ground winded. _Is this discord?_ I wondered. How ironic, to be hit with a discord blast after finally coming home.

Someone was standing in front of me. Because of my sudden deafness, I couldn't tell if they were male or female, or anything about what they looked like. I cursed evolution for making us rely on music for identification. I could have used the ability to remember faces and bodies at that time. I felt them nudge my foot, and a piece of paper drifted to the ground beside me.

 _Are you Prisoner X-5839?_ It asked. I nodded. That was my old prisoner number, so I assumed the X meant freed. But Mariachans in Theme? What was going on, and how had they gotten past the border patrols?

'Did you hurt Will?' I think I said. I couldn't even hear myself.

 _Your friend is fine. We have been told to inform you that you were lucky to be set free. Interfere any more and expect death._

'I have not interfered at all!' I stated, confused. The boot came down on my arm, and I felt something snap, with a sharp and forceful jab of agony. I couldn't hear my own cry of pain. Whoever it was retreated and left me slumped against the kitchen bench, unconsciousness taking over slowly.


	3. Punk Rock

_It is a lot more fun when the timing changes._

 _ **C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A#**_

* * *

4/4

Waking up with a broken arm was an interesting experience. The best I could describe it would be… splintery. First- consciousness, fragmentally, vision spiking. Next- hearing, which came back in spurts, blasts of noise coming at me in waves. Finally- pain in my arm, which attacked me in jagged spikes as well, until finally I was fully awake, aware and in a lot of pain. Will was crouched next to me, sounding terrified.

'-o! Are you awake?' he asked, noticing my eyes open. 'Are you okay?' he followed, careful not to touch my arm. He was right next to it. Idiot.

'I feel like I just stuck my arm in a wood chipper. I have a _broken arm,_ how do you think I bloody am, dumbass, if there is _literal bone that has punctured my skin and is now becoming sentient through consumption of oxygen that it has no right to be even touching_?' I resisted the urge to laugh. 'Obviously it isn't becoming sentient but if it does it is your fault for asking stupid questions.'

I reached out with my uninjured arm and pulled myself up, avoiding Will's outstretched offer of assistance. Seven hells, what happened? My head was still ringing.

'Anyway Will, are you alright?'

There was a small trail of blood running from his ears. Obviously the discord blast had affected him more than me. They must have detonated it closer to him, since the closer the detonation, the more adverse the effects to the hearing and physical aural systems.

'I was just driving down the driveway when there was this… this blast, it knocked the car on its side. Then everything was silent, and I was really dizzy, I guess that's the right word. You know, that type of dizzy where you feel like you're going to throw up?' he rambled, leading me outside.

'It was a discord bomb, Will. Knocks out your hearing.' Talking was difficult. Arm hurting. Damn you, pain tolerance.

'What?' Obviously Will hadn't considered that our country was at war. It was something everyone who had fought believed at the beginning. _How could I die? I'm not going to be attacked._ _I'm special._ It wasn't true, and you either learned it fast or ended up dead.

'You know, the war that is going on? I fought in it, lost people to it... You haven't just been ignoring it, have you? If we fail up north, they're going to come down here, and they're going to kill people. You've just gotten a glimpse of how bad it is.'

I settled myself into the passenger seat of Will's spare car gingerly. Broken arms hurt like a bitch. Certainly going to avoid that kind of injury again. Will started up the engine and we drove around the beat up ute and out onto the main road. Hospital time, once more. Great.

 _ **C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A#**_

Apparently my description of the literal bone sticking out from my flesh was a slight exaggeration. It was merely a relatively serious fracture, meaning the bone was broken but not dramatically. So the doctors reset it and left me with a cast and sling, as expected. Luckily it would only take about 5 weeks to heal, which was plenty of time to find myself a job, rest for a while, all that jazz. Will drove me back home, hopped up on anaesthetic (always fun. I managed to break a window, among other things, and type 'huy huy' into the computer 73 times. I wanted to see a picture of a horse for some reason) which was a good thing. I did not want to be stuck in the hospital overnight with a broken arm setting and recovering from a discord blast, as weird as that might be. I would be much more comfortable away from all public services and government organisations. I have not had a good experience with the government yet. After coming back to the real world, which sadly lacked flying fluorescent ponies and singing ice creams, I realised that a broken arm didn't magically stop hurting after 24 hours. Haha. Nowhere near.

'Son of a _bitch!_ '

'The painkillers are on the bedside table next to you.'

'Oh. Thanks.'

I reverted to a whiny twelve year old for a week. I'm sure Will really appreciated my company and definitely didn't regret accepting my request to stay at his house.

 _ **C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A#**_

When I could finally take the sling off, I went back to the thought of getting a job. It was pretty important, money and all that. So I started putting together a resume. Thanks to the government and their bloody conscripting, all I really had was _soldier: 1 year._ And unless I wanted to broadcast that I was a professional prisoner, I had no idea what jobs I could apply for with that kind of experience. McDonalds maybe? Will sent it off to all sorts of places once I had it all written up, and we waited. He had to drive out to the vet a lot; apparently spring meant that there were a lot of small sheep ready to emerge. Emerge, why on earth would he describe it as emerging?

There were multiple incidents, where I fell off things and even knocked myself out once, that meant Will couldn't go on his errands. Which seemed to piss him off a little bit. I never managed to apologise for the accidents, it was make sure I was okay and then run out the door like Lucifer himself was after him. Busy dude.

 _ **C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A# C# F# G# A#**_

I had just fallen over the washing pile and cracked my cast arm against the table. Will had gotten me some stuff for the pain and run off to drive somewhere again, complaining about being late. The phone had rung, so I picked it up.

'Hello, Will Corton's household, this is-'

' _We told you to stop interfering.'_

What the hell was going on? Was this the same person as from three weeks ago? I hadn't interfered in anything I knew of; obviously I'd been stuck with a broken arm. I considered just hanging up, but the voice came back fast.

' _You have one week to leave Theme before we come for you. We will give you two days to leave your current residence- then it is every man for themselves. Good luck. You'll need it.'_

That was that, I supposed, throwing the phone down. I sat in the living room for a while. There was a cold shiver working its way down my spine and into my stomach, the beginning of panic. What were my options?

One.

Take Will's car and go. He has two- the ute is with him at the vet but… the VW was in the driveway and the keys on the kitchen bench.

Benefits of the plan- I have a functioning and registered car that I know how to drive. It wouldn't be registered as stolen if I alerted Will. The car was a good off road vehicle, was stable, had been checked by a mechanic reasonably recently which meant it was safe. It had functioning airbags and was a solid machine. The keys to it were close and I knew how the car worked.

Taking Will's car would probably only incriminate him to the Mariachans and create more casualties caused by me. The whole situation, taking Will's car… too risky. I didn't want him involved- he's far too innocent in this whole problem. He was terrified by the discord bomb… this would only make things worse for him and I wanted him as safe as possible. The car is too easily tracked back to him.

Two.

Go to one of those rent a car things and just take it. Well, paying for it would be ideal, but if worst comes to worst, I could take one.

Benefits? The car isn't as easily tracked, I can abandon it and if I'm careful? I'll be unidentifiable. But really… It's damn hard to disguise your music. It's pretty clear. And I have a very obvious broken arm. Not returning to pay for another day's rent would be a pretty easy reason to call the police… I have no idea who is a spy or soldier. But it's the option with the least to lose…

Three.

Stay.

Not really a good idea, what with all the death and dying. Whatever the hell was going on, I really couldn't stay. It would put Will in danger, and even though I had no idea why the Mariachans were after me, I couldn't risk being the cause of more lives lost. Plus, its just. Not an option at all.

So I got my suitcase once more, packed properly. I hooked it over my shoulder and made my way into town by foot. The walk wasn't that long.

To where? Classical. How? I needed a car.


	4. Math Rock

_Practice makes more than perfect, if perfect is only as well as humans can do._

F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#

I left Will a note and was gone.

F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#

The walk to the closest village wasn't too long, considering my situation. Will's house out in the fields made the walk longer than necessary, since I had to traverse the dusty dirt roads and avoid the occasional escaped cow or horse, though for a few minutes I was accompanied by a little brown-furred kelpie puppy with black spot eyebrows and bright blue eyes who quickly returned to his barking mother before I could think of a name for him. I decided on Kelsey afterwards. Good enough name for a puppy if I ever got one. Eventually the untraveled dirt roads became bitumen lined with yellowed grass and burned trees, and every now and then I had to dodge an overly eager car that was almost flying off the side of the road. It made me wonder what they were in such a rush for, that they went that fast. Pregnant partner? Important time-relevant business deal? Whatever the case, the incidents became more prevalent as I approached Andante. Thankfully though, the speed limit lowered and ensured my safety a little as I entered the town's limits.

F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#

Andante had a car rental, and it was as shoddy and run down as the town that it resided in. For all the benefits of living in Theme, the quality of the country towns was not one of them. The shop was painted blue, it appeared, and the flakes lay untouched by wind in the dirt beside the walls they'd abandoned. The windows were clear but cracked slightly in places, and the sign hung askew from above the dark wooden door, one screw visible on top of the door frame. As I stepped inside, the interior was surprisingly well kept and clean, and the attendant sat bored at the desk along the far wall. There were shelves of car add-ons and stickers for windows and bumpers, plus cup holders and a small vending machine for canned drinks.  
'Welcome to Andante Car Rental, how can I help you?' Her customer voice was overly enthusiastic, too honeyed to be real, and I could hear her boredom and dissatisfaction, but I put on a smile and approached the desk. I hoped that she wouldn't be able to hear my nervousness and interpret it as dangerous.  
'Hi, I would like to rent a small car for the day, if you have one,' I replied, trying my best to be polite and friendly. Never hurts to be polite to a person in a customer service job. She looked at a clipboard that lay on the desk beside the computer monitor, which appeared to contain a register of the cars they offered. She perused it for a minute, and looked back up at me.  
'We have a Citroën for fifty a day, does that suit your needs?'

I checked my wallet quickly, finding just enough in small notes and a veritable trove of coins. 'That would be fantastic, thank you.'

F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#

For a small rental car, the Citroën had a clean interior, other than the suspicious dark stain on the left back seat, and the missing handle on the same side, so I was hopeful that the day's worth of driving required to reach Classical's border wouldn't be difficult. The drive was boring and uneventful and that was nice. It was all just green and yellow fields and trees, thick bushes and weeds, and a few colourful roadside flowers. I only recognised the daisies, but it cheered me enough to make the hours pass without worry. I let myself analyse the phone call I'd received so recently. I assumed it was from Mariachi, because who else was likely to threaten me? My only curiosity was how I had 'interfered', as they'd claimed. I'd been out of action for weeks, due to my arm's current state, and that too had been caused by Mariachans. All I'd interfered with was my own consciousness the one time I passed out, and perhaps my own recovery time. It didn't take me long to just stop trying to understand.

F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#, F#, C#, G#, D#, A#

I knew Classical's border was close enough, but it was far too early in the trip for me to begin encountering bumps and buckling in the bitumen. The neutral space between us wasn't cared for since both governments declared the other was responsible for the upkeep, but I had thought I was still a couple of hours away. The Citroën managed to push its way past the roadblocks, but it wasn't long before the twisting and buckling of the road became so treacherous that I stopped the car. A large crater, from what I could see ahead, sat like a dam in the road. I stepped out of the car to inspect it, and as I did I noticed the scenery had changed. I hadn't noticed the gradual lack of trees, and the appearance of seared stumps lying uprooted in the churned dirt. Flowers lay scattered with petals ripped apart, and grass was mixed with soil. The large craters could be seen around me, and I peered into the one ahead with a rock in my stomach, dragging me down. It contained exactly what I had expected, and exactly what I had never wanted to see again.


End file.
